Three Poems for Discord

by Slipshod Extension

Some Old Folks Bicker About the Entertainment

“I say,” said he (with unconscionable glee)
“That she’s run pell-mell to the Everfree
There to chase after owls and trip over snakes
all ‘to find her dear Princess whatever it takes.’”

"I say," said I, as I sat in the sky,
"If she goes to the Everfree, there she will die.
There the boughs close in, and the dark wolves course
through the underbrush hoping to dine on fresh horse."

"Oh, my pets never kill," he said, "they only thrill
to spark terror in hearts and set hooves shaking. Still,
I've high hopes for this one. Often in fearful night
can the friction and strain spark spirits to new light."

"I confess to surprise," I said, "amidst your lies,
That you admit to care whether she lives or dies.
Are you out of deception? Denial run dry?
Will the sky at last see even mad Chaos cry?"

"You cannot think," said he, "you can understand me.
That the sun on the water can map the deep sea!
I care not for your ponies, but only for change.
This old stalemate bores me, so let's rearrange."

"Oh, I see," offered I, "you've a bored aesthete's eye.
Lives and patterns your playthings: old low, the new high.
But in choosing is order, in preference care;
You profess indiff'rence, but you cannot but dare."

"Well, touché then," he said, with a toss of his head,
"I admit that you ponies are no fun when dead.
This stagnation does bore me. I blame the poor ghost.
Having lost all she had she's content now to coast."

"And what demon," I said, "placed the sheets on that bed?
But you laugh at us--architects of our own dread!
With our hearts all aflutter, on cheeks sorrow’s stain,
Our coats all in tatters—in every step pain—"

"Yes, in every step pain!" he sneered, "with naught to gain.
That mare's love is a leaf in the wind. I would fain
Show to her what her suffering's worth when she's dust:
When she molders away, as all memories must."

I felt my old heart stir. "Does that matter to her?
In the long sweep of time all we do is a blur.
Yet those ponies you torment still taste more of life
Than you've found in a thousand years of our dry strife.
Yea, ask any bereavéd what doom they would choose:
Whether to have lost or to have nothing to lose."

Author's Note:

Inspired by, and thus a poor tribute to, Monochromatic's The Enchanted Library. If by some bizarre happenstance you find this poem but haven't read one of the biggest stories on this site, uh, check it out. It's pretty darned good!

Comments

[PresentPerfect]

oh damn, that was really good c_c

strangely, I am the rare person who has read this but not EL XD